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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25481692">The Tin Man With A Heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jelly_beanss/pseuds/3jelly_beanss'>3jelly_beanss</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, Criminal Ricky Goldsworth, Detective Noir, Drunken Kissing, Enemies to Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hannibal AU, Kissing, M/M, Murder, Pining, Ryan and Shane are Ricky and C.C. not separate characters, Serial Killer Ricky Goldsworth, Sort of like Hannibal, Teasing, Tinsworth, detective cc tinsley, drunk, i stole a case from hannibal, private eye Ricky Goldsworth, slowburn, so like garret jacob hobbs is there, some gore description, some spoilers in tags, unhealthy relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 01:58:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25481692</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/3jelly_beanss/pseuds/3jelly_beanss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>C.C. Tinsley has been working the Swiss Army Knife Killer’s case for four years with few suspects and little evidence. He’s starting to get tired when he gets some well-needed assistance.</p><p>Ricky Goldsworth has been teasing and playing with an LAPD detective for four years. Then, he accidentally/on purpose gets closer than he ever imagined or intended.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ricky Goldsworth &amp; C.C. Tinsley, Ricky Goldsworth/C. C. Tinsley, Ryan Bergara &amp; Shane Madej, Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Detective Extraordinaire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning: description of a dead body and some gore/violence<br/>sorry!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C.C. Tinsley was a very eccentric man. He worked as a detective with the Los Angeles police department. C.C. Tinsley wore a cowboy hat to work almost every day. He had tiny, oval-shaped reading glasses that he was positively ashamed that he needed. Everyone in his department had soon discovered they shouldn’t mention them.</p><p>Today, Tinsley was wearing a brown suit jacket over a bright pink, blue, and green floral button up. He got lots of attention for his odd fashion choices. He once got in trouble with his boss because he showed up to a crime scene wearing a Hawaiian shirt covered with pictures of alcoholic drinks. This was widely regarded as a bad move. He felt bad, but he was a bit perturbed. That was one of his favorite shirts.</p><p>Tinsley positioned his short, floppy brown hair under his typical tan cowboy hat. He stood in front of the mirror for a few moments more, supporting himself weakly with his hands on the granite countertop. The purple bags under his eyes had gotten deeper. It made sense. One of the most notorious criminals in Los Angeles was back. C.C. rubbed his temple and tried not to think about Gold just now.</p><p>Tinsley emerged from the police station bathroom. He had been called to the station a few moments before and had arrived only to make the excuse that he had to use the restroom. Now, he had to go back out and accompany some police officers to a dead body. He groaned internally, but he made his way for the door and hopped into the police cruiser.</p><p>“So, Tinsley, how long have you been working this case again?” The man driving asked. C.C. pursed his lips. That was Officer Johnson, and he had known Tinsley for about five years. </p><p>“Four long years,” he grumbled in response. One of the other men whistled and a woman whispered ‘sheesh.’ “What can you tell me about the crime scene?”</p><p>The woman sitting next to him started to explain, consulting a small notebook. “The victim is male, caucasian, age forty-one. IDs on the body tell us his name was Jeffrey Reynolds. Two stab wounds: one in the gut, one through the bottom of the chin.” Tinsley exhaled shakily. Gruesome. </p><p>“How do we know it’s… him?” The weary detective asked.</p><p>“A woman saw a short, tan-skinned man leaving the scene around one in the morning, er, licking blood off of his fingers.” Tinsley's eyebrows shot up. The woman nodded, grimacing. “She described him as having black hair and eyes, and she couldn’t place his ethnicity. Pretty much matches the other descriptions we have of this guy.”</p><p>The car stopped. A few police cars were stopped around and men in uniforms swarmed around a yellow, taped-off area. The four in the car stepped out. The detective ducked under the yellow caution tape. He almost couldn’t lift it high enough, as he wasn’t really built to fit anywhere, standing at 6 foot 4 inches. Tinsley got more than a few odd looks from passersby and police alike, as his flamboyantly colorful outfit was in plain view due to his height, and his long, thin limbs further gave him an odd, Jack Skellington-like look.</p><p>The body had been posed, but not in the caring way. The killer hadn’t been satisfied, he guessed, with the way the man’s body had slumped on the floor, so he had set him up on the wall, arms out and palms laying face-up on the ground. The pose was no more dignified than simply lying on the floor. It looked like the killer had opened the man’s eyes after he died. All together, it looked like a man pleading for his life, sitting slouched on a wall. The deep crimson slicked the man’s hair to his head and dripped viscously from his chin and onto his lap, where more of it had seeped through his white shirt and lay around him on the cement of the alley. Tinsley felt bile suddenly rising in his throat. He closed his eyes and turned away, sneaking out of the crime scene.</p><p>“Tinsley, we’ve got a robbery.” It was Officer Johnson, standing just a few feet from him. The tall man rubbed his eyes and mumbled that they should go ahead and go. “Actually, I think you’re going to want to be here for this.”</p><p>Tinsley’s caramel eyes opened and he tilted his head in a silent question.</p><p>“A robbery occurred at an antique store down the road, after it closed. There was a clerk there last night, working the last shift. His name was Jeffrey Reynolds.”</p><p>That was how Tinsley found himself once again shoving his long, gangly limbs into a police cruiser and heading to one of his favorite antique stores. </p><p>C.C. Tinsley had been working this case for four years, endlessly chasing after a mysterious dark-haired man that simply refused to be found. He had been named by the local newspaper ‘the Swiss Army Knife Killer,’ and for good reason. He had dabbled in almost every crime in the book. This man had committed murder, arson, credit card fraud, robbery, and impersonating people from police officers to doctors to FBI agents. He also had been known to kill with a katana, which was most of the reason they were able to attribute murders to him, as he never had any consistent sort of pattern or M.O. Tinsley had a more personal connection to this killer, though. Three years ago, after one of the Swiss Army Knife Killer’s victims was found murdered, Tinsley received a letter. Since then, he had received five more, all signed ‘Mr. Gold,’ which was what the weary detective now called him. </p><p>“Fucking Gold…” He muttered as the car pulled into the antique store parking lot, the usually beautiful store marred by a serial killer. Every single one of the windows had been smashed in and they were now covered in yellow banners that read ‘Caution.’ Tinsley wondered if Gold knew he had frequented this store. He wondered if maybe he’d seen Gold before. He wondered if Gold had ever had an opportunity to kill him. He was jarred out of his thoughts by the woman next to him shifting uncomfortably. Ah. She was waiting for him to get out. </p><p>Tinsley clambered out of the small car and slowly, reluctantly approached the store.</p><p>‘Smith’s Antique’s and Knick Knacks’ read the hand-painted and fading sign over the door.</p><p>Tinsley approached a rattled old man with dark skin and white hair who was talking to a police officer. The detective immediately recognized him as the owner of the store, Mr. Smith.</p><p>“We hired Mr. Reynolds a few days ago. He seemed really professional, like he knew a lot about antiques. He told us he was a good haggler.” The man laughed halfheartedly. “Why are you asking about Jeffrey again? I know he showed up for his shift last night. It’s not his fault.”</p><p>Tinsley saw the jaw of the old man drop as the news was broken to him. He hung his head and shook it from side to side, his eyes wet. The detective’s hand hesitated by the old man’s shaking shoulders. He let his hand fall and strode away and into the store.</p><p>“What’s been stolen? Do they know?” C.C. asked an officer inside.</p><p>They responded, “Some golden candlesticks, a golden pocket watch, an old painting of some angels and other religious imagery, and a dagger from the 1800s with a gold hilt. Nothing else was disturbed besides the windows. This guy managed to do it quickly, too. He smashed the windows and took the stuff with the alarm blaring and managed to leave before police arrived.”</p><p>“Fucking Gold.” Tinsley muttered, shaking his head.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you like it so far!!!! Eek I’m really excited about this fic, I love these characters!! ....should I post some art of them with the fic?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Rick of All Trades</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lots of alcohol leads to a chance meeting and some possibly regrettable decisions...</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>C.C. Tinsley sat on his couch in his blue jeans, not wearing a shirt. He had collapsed as soon as he got home, after filing tons of paperwork and working half heartedly on a few other cases. </p><p>He woke up from this nap bleary-eyed and with a sick feeling in his stomach. Fuck, this job really got to him sometimes. </p><p>He threw on the bright floral shirt and the cowboy hat he had been wearing earlier. He made a quick trip to the bathroom and put some gel in his hair so maybe it would behave. He soon gave up, as the hat would cover it anyways.</p><p>Time to get fucking wasted.</p><p>-</p><p>Ricky didn’t usually go to bars and drink. It wasn’t his style. He preferred to either go to a fancy restaurant and order a bit of expensive alcohol or buy a shit ton of cheap liquor and get wasted in the privacy of his own apartment. However, tonight, he had cause for celebration. </p><p>The sun had set hours ago, and Ricky opened the door of the Uber he had taken to see a deep blue sky with a few scattered stars. The moon was a thin crescent. For fun, he grinned and tried to match it. </p><p>The bar was small but almost full of people. It seemed like a very local thing, as if most of the patrons were regulars. Ricky had dressed down to fit in, but still he stood out. Small wooden tables and barstools were crowded with men and women. Yellow lights in iron cages dimly illuminated everyone. The walls were cluttered with license plates, beer signs, and old-fashioned ad posters.</p><p>Ricky ordered a beer and sat at the bar, enjoying the light guitar music. He couldn’t place the genre, maybe somewhere between rock, indie, and pop.</p><p>He looked down at his outfit, wondering why he didn’t fit in more with these mostly casually-dressed people. He had chosen a short sleeved button up with blue stripes and some shorts. A simple bandana kept his hair out of his face. Maybe he just didn’t have the right air about him. He sipped the beer and looked around.</p><p>Immediately he noticed the man in the corner wearing a floral shirt and a cowboy hat and downing two shots, one right after the other. Ricky couldn’t help but raise the corner of his mouth at the man’s drunken giggles. </p><p>Ricky’s dark brown eyes met Tinsley’s caramel ones, and Ricky saw his bushy eyebrows shoot up. He turned away and back to his beer. Oh god, he might have to talk to someone. This had been a bad idea. He should leave. Shit.</p><p>-</p><p>Tinsley had seen the small, dark-haired man staring at him. Now he stared at the man’s turned back, his cheeks flushed. He had been acting a total fool, hadn’t he? Well, shit. But the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream told him to go introduce himself.</p><p>C.C. Tinsley slid onto the wooden barstool next to the short man in the blue and white shirt. He ordered a beer from the bartender and snuck sideways glances at the man next to him, who seemed not to notice. Tinsley’s eyes locked on the man’s tanned biceps. Fuck, he was ripped.</p><p>-</p><p>Ricky was starting to get annoyed. The man next to him kept looking at him. He turned finally and the guy was looking at him through brown eyelashes. He sipped a beer and grinned up at Ricky sheepishly. Was… was he being flirted with?</p><p>Ricky couldn’t take his eyes off him, though he stared only out of the corner of his eye, hoping the man couldn’t tell. He was incredibly tall, with long, thin limbs and strong hands. He had a bushy brown mustache now hilariously covered in beer foam and short brown hair under a tan cowboy hat.</p><p>“Hey, um,” Tinsley giggled a bit. “I can see you.”</p><p>Ricky flushed pink. Fuck. “Oh, I- I’m sorry, sir.”</p><p>“S’okay.” The man extended a big hand and held it by his shoulder. Ricky took it. The guy had a strong handshake. “C.C. Tinsley.” </p><p>Ricky’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows shot up for a split second before he regained his composure enough to respond. “Ricky. Ricky Goldsworth.”</p><p>What were the fucking odds? Ricky happened to meet the man who had been chasing him for four years, the man whom he had been evading and teasing for four years, and the man he now realized was incredibly attractive. He grinned. The famed detective was drunk off his ass, and Ricky would definitely be able to, to put it bluntly, fuck with him.</p><p>-</p><p>Tinsley leaned into Ricky, and the shorter man could smell alcohol and mint on his breath. He ducked out of the man’s way, narrowly avoiding being kissed on the mouth. They had been talking at the bar, Tinsley babbling on like the drunken mess he was and Ricky trying to keep some semblance of intelligent conversation, for about thirty minutes when Tinsley recommended they hit the dance floor. Ricky had refused. Then Tinsley dragged him by the arm with a coy smile on his face. How could he have refused that face? Especially when it was accompanied by a fast-paced song almost perfect for dancing.</p><p>Now Ricky had C.C. by the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer but at the same time keeping him from getting too close. </p><p>“Getting a bit too friendly, aren’t we, tin man?” Ricky murmured, his voice low and barely audible over the music.</p><p>Tinsley chuckled at the nickname and was interrupted by a hiccup. “I’d really like to, Rick…”</p><p>Ricky smiled. He really had this poor man under his spell… Well, if he didn’t want to kiss him or kill him, he should probably do him the courtesy of taking him home. Ricky wasn’t known to be courteous but he also wasn’t known to be incredibly rude.</p><p>Ricky snaked his arm around the back of Tinsley’s neck and played with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. C.C.’s smile grew wider. Ricky felt an unexpected hand on his waist and he pinkened, though it was nothing compared to the rouge spread over the taller man’s cheeks. </p><p>Ricky finally eased his grip on the other man’s shirt and tilted his head up. Their lips met messily, and the small man couldn’t help but smile as Tinsley’s soft lips pushed and pulled at his. They parted for breath and Ricky slipped out of the man’s grip, causing his smile to fall.</p><p>“Come on now, old man.” Ricky said, and grabbed C.C.’s hand to lead him outside the bar. It was mostly deserted by then, and he bet a few creepy or angry customers might approach them to complain or for many other reasons. </p><p>Tinsley allowed himself to be led, and he was glad to have a steady hand as he was struggling to stand up straight. He did, however, refute Ricky’s nickname this time. “Actually, I’m thirty-four.”</p><p>“Well, you wear it wearily. Seriously, when was the last time you had eight hours of sleep, Tinsley?” They emerged outside and Ricky got out his phone to call an Uber.</p><p>“Uhh… I won’t be getting it tonight!” He exclaimed and started to giggle after he looked at the time. It was around midnight and the detective had to be awake at seven the next day for work. The small part of his practical self that was still there mourned the hangover he would have. Drunk C.C. mourned that he had no more alcohol to drink and that he hadn’t made out with the short, buff man next to him.</p><p>Goldsworth turned to Tinsley to see his new companion was staring down at him with a goofy grin. “Need something, big guy?”</p><p>“Uhm, you’re very pretty, Rick…” Tinsley gave him a toothy smile.</p><p>Ricky smirked crookedly. He raised his hand to the man’s face and rubbed his coarse, brown stubble. “I prefer Ricky, but thank you very much, sweetheart.”</p><p>A black car pulled up and Ricky struggled to get the very tall, lanky, staggering fellow into the vehicle.</p><p>-</p><p>The sliver of a moon illuminated half of Tinsley’s flushed face. Ricky had managed to get directions to his apartment out of the near-delirious man. Ricky now slowly walked up the stairs, supporting the swaying, softly humming man-child that the famous detective had become.</p><p>Tinsley rifled through his pockets in front of the door, making a comically expressive disappointed face when he came up empty in one pocket but yelling “Hurrah, baby!” when he found his keys in the other. He handed them to Ricky, who unlocked the door and escorted C.C. inside.</p><p>“Sleepy…” The tall man murmured as he collapsed on his couch in an obviously uncomfortable position. He muttered and groaned as he tried to find a comfortable position to fall asleep.</p><p>“No, no, no.” Ricky interjected. He pursed his lips and dragged the tall, very heavy man up to his feet. “In an actual bed, big guy.”</p><p>Tinsley pouted but shuffled his way to a small bedroom where he threw off his shoes and flopped onto the bed fully clothed.</p><p>“Wanna have a sleepover, lil man?” C.C. asked, muffled, as his face was pressed into his pillow.</p><p>“No, thank you.” Ricky responded with a small smile. He headed for the door, but stopped before he entirely left the room. “Good luck, Tinsley. See you soon.”</p><p>Ricky heard a muffled “see ya” from the bedroom and he made his exit. </p><p>Yes, he would see C.C. Tinsley very soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Strange Disappearance of Some Memories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>C.C. Tinsley meets a very interesting Private Investigator. They have... chemistry.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning: some gore and also mild Hannibal spoliers (basically I took the Minnesota Shrike plotline and bent it to fit this fic lol)<br/>hope u dont mind! All this stuff happens pretty early in season one of hannibal, too, so nothing major (also I'm sort of changing it at the end)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sunlight streamed in lines through C.C.Tinsley’s window. He lay sprawled in his bed, half under the covers and half not, still wearing his clothes from the night before. He groaned and tried to lift his head and open his eyes, only to be met with blinding sunlight. </p><p>There was a crippling headache right behind Tinsley’s eyes, feeling like it was splitting his head open. He winced and pressed a hand to his forehead. Then he felt the queasiness in his stomach. He sat up in bed and squinted against the bright light from the window. His breath tasted sour and stale, and a bit like bile. He was hit with a wave of nausea.</p><p>The detective looked at the time on his watch to find that he had only thirty minutes to get ready. He groaned but managed to muster enough energy to get out of bed and into the shower.</p><p>He took a nice, calming shower, though after he got out, he vomited into the toilet. He wiped his mouth with a paper towel, his hands shaky. Tinsley felt decidedly better. He brushed his teeth, gladly ridding his mouth of the taste of old alcohol and bile.</p><p>He chose an outfit hastily, deciding on a light blue button-up and a blue tie with tropical fish on it. He shrugged on a jacket and plopped his cowboy hat on his head. Fancy enough, right? He had a meeting about a new case today, so no Hawaiian shirt.</p><p>Tinsley ate a bagel for breakfast and popped quite a few aspirin. He made himself a cup of coffee and stumbled out of the apartment and into an Uber. Time to go to work.</p><p>-</p><p>Detective C.C. Tinsley sat at his desk, leaning his cheek on his hand, reading up on a case he was going to be starting on today. It was a multiple kidnapping case. The police still had no idea where the girls were going, if they were dead, or where their bodies were. There were eight girls as of yesterday, all the same age and eerily similar in appearance. He sighed and tore his eyes away from the latest victim’s face, smiling at him innocently from the case file.</p><p>His eyelids were heavy. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. He thought back to the bar, the many drinks he had downed, the very very interesting man he had met… Fuck, wait. The last thing he remembered was Ricky kissing him. What had happened? He racked his brain frantically. He vaguely remembered a car ride, but not much else. How had he ended up in his apartment? He thought back to the kiss. Man, that guy had been cute. Fortunately, though, he’d probably never see him again. Tinsley had definitely made a fool of himself, and he couldn’t have that guy knowing who he was and holding it over his head. He hoped Ricky didn’t remember much either. </p><p>His eyes were blurry. How many hours of sleep had he gotten last night? He sorted through fuzzy memories and calculations, but instead of finding the answer, he found himself slipping into tired daydreams.</p><p>-</p><p>“Detective?” A low, annoyed voice drifted into Tinsley’s vague dreams. His brows furrowed. Who was that?</p><p>The detective’s eyes snapped open and his head shot up from where it had been lying on his arms. His eyes saw first the 9 mm in the leather gun holster, almost at eye level. His eyes widened. He looked back down and noticed a small spit stain on his jacket sleeve. Embarrassed, he covered it quickly with his other sleeve.</p><p>“S- so sorry to keep you waiting,” He stuttered and looked up to meet the gaze of whoever was in his office.</p><p>His eyes met dark brown ones. The man in front of him was tan with slight stubble and neat black hair swept to one side. He wore a distinct scowl and also a nicely tailored suit. Tinsley knew his name as soon as he saw his face.</p><p>“Ricky?” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He blushed and tried to block out memories of the previous night. Maybe Ricky didn’t remember. Maybe he could just pretend he had never overtly flirted at the annoyed man in front of him.</p><p>“Private Investigator Ricky Goldsworth. We have some things we need to discuss, right, Tinsley?” Barely contained amusement or perhaps rage seeped into Ricky’s words. Tinsley paled and nodded weakly. “May I close this door?” Tinsley nodded again, leaving him alone in the small room, feeling like he was suffocating. </p><p>The detective stood and stuck out his hand, trying for some semblance of professionalism. “I apologize, Mr. Goldsworth, for my actions and-”</p><p>Goldsworth interrupted by evading the extended hand and instead grabbing the detective by his tie, pushing him backwards into a bookcase. Tinsley could feel the books’ spines digging into his back. He swallowed audibly in the silence between the two.</p><p>“Detective, I know what happened last night. You know what happened last night. I don’t think anyone else needs to, am I right?” Ricky’s words were almost growled at the tall man in a low, threatening tone. Tinsley nodded slowly, cheeks flushed. Ricky’s breath smelled like mouthwash. “Are you fucking listening to me? You keep your mouth shut, okay, Tinsley? You make any more moves on me and I bash your fucking head in.” Ricky emphasized this by dragging the other man’s head down closer to his. Tinsley was having conflicting thoughts. Well, actually, his thoughts were all in agreement, but they conflicted with Ricky’s. Even so, he nodded. He noticed his mouth was dry. </p><p>“Thank you for your cooperation,” Ricky breathed, his mouth inches from Tinsley’s. The tall man’s heart was racing. “I know I can count on you, tin man.” He released his grip on the detective’s shirt and tie and stepped back towards the door, smoothing his suit. He had a surprising amount of grace and composure for someone who had just threatened to bash a man’s face in. He didn’t even seem to notice he had left Tinsley a blabbering, clumsy, and flustered fool.</p><p>Ricky opened the door halfway and sat down in the chair across from the detective’s desk. Tinsley copied him and absentmindedly flopped down in his chair.</p><p>“I assume you’ve been looking over the case.” Ricky’s head tipped towards the closed file on the detective’s desk.</p><p>“Ah! Yes, of course.” Tinsley tried his best to focus on the case. He was at work, for goodness’ sake. Though Ricky had no business being that hot when he was threatening to harm him significantly. He frowned,upset with himself. Professionalism, damn it! Tinsley tried his best to block all of the memories of the bar last night and the altercation, if that even was the right word, of a few minutes ago. He had been sitting in silent contemplation for a few minutes, and he noticed Ricky was glaring at him in annoyance.</p><p>“So! I was thinking we should visit the most recent victim’s parents, gather more information on their daughter and how she was taken.” Tinsley quickly blurted, feeling bad for his silence.</p><p>“Sounds good. I don’t know if we’ll figure out much more than we already know. Also, I must warn you, I’m not the best at being sociable. Or consoling people who have lost a loved one.”</p><p>Tinsley tilted his head, curious. Ricky was staring awkwardly at the floor, and it almost made him feel bad. “That’s okay. I can cover for you. And I have to say, you never know what you could learn, and it’s always better to be thorough than to be lazy.” He added a grin at the end, and Ricky smirked back. Apparently, PI Goldsworth had only two attitudes: cocky and awkward.</p><p>“Detective time, babey!” Tinsley said, standing up and getting his coat from the coat rack by the door. Ricky stood as well and cocked an eyebrow, looking surprisingly dangerous for someone so much shorter than him. Tinsley put his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ position. “Figure of speech.”</p><p>-</p><p>They took Ricky’s car, a very expensive-looking and well-maintained Mercedes. They discussed the case a bit. At one point, the investigator asked the detective why he thought the kidnapper was doing what he was doing, which surprised Tinsley. He had thought about it a bit, but found it hard to come to a conclusion. He furrowed his brow and tried to answer in a way that made a semblance of sense.</p><p>“Well… It’s particularly hard to say why this man would be kidnapping these girls, especially since we haven’t found any bodies yet, but the fact that he keeps taking more says that the girls… expire somehow. At some point, he’s going to have to take another one, and more and more. The fact that he takes almost the same-looking girl every time implies he has a connection to a girl just like these girls. In fact, she may be hidden among the victims.”</p><p>“Very good, Detective. Someone might guess you do this for a living.” Ricky teased. “I think you’re right. I’m going to make a possibly out-of-line hypothesis, but I think the girls represent a daughter figure. They’re about the right age for our killer, who’s probably between 30-40, and they all recently went off to college. Maybe he’s trying to keep some control of his daughter who is going to be leaving him, so he finds all these girls and… keeps them with him permanently.”</p><p>“It’s a bit of a jump, Goldsworth, but I’ll take it.” Tinsley was surprised at how easy their conversation flowed. The awkwardness he thought would be there had somehow dissipated. Their thinking was oddly similar, and it helped that Goldworth was intelligent. </p><p>They arrived at a small, suburban house. It had two stories and was pretty plain, with a badly-kept lawn. </p><p>“Two middle-class working parents. Distant relationship with their daughter. She’s an only child.” Ricky muttered. Tinsley’s eyebrows shot up. He studied the house further and came to the same conclusion about the parents, but he couldn’t tell how the other man knew about the other things. He shook his head and they headed inside together. </p><p>-</p><p>The girl’s parents both had puffy, red eyes. Worry lines were ever present on both of their faces. They clung to each other, but Tinsley could sense a tension and anger underneath their miserable countenances.</p><p>“Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, we’re terribly sorry about your daughter’s disappearance.” Tinsley explained, sitting at a large table across from the two battered parents. Ricky, however, was walking around the room and inspecting shelves and things on the walls. “We wanted to ask a few questions, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>“Not at all.” Mr. Nichols managed. His wife wouldn’t quite make eye contact.</p><p>“Elise was coming home, right?” </p><p>“S-She was supposed to come home for the weekend. From her college, to do some chores. But-” The girl’s mother started, but she was overwhelmed by emotion.</p><p>“She never made it here.” Her husband finished mournfully.</p><p>“How’s your cat?” Ricky asked. Tinsley glared at his highly insensitive colleague. The two parents just looked confused and dumbstruck. “Elise was coming home to feed the cat, right? When you got home, was it hungry?”</p><p>“W- We didn’t notice. I don’t think so.” </p><p>Tinsley finished the interview with no further interruption from Goldsworth. The detective was making his farewell to the husband and wife when Ricky approached and whispered into his ear.</p><p>“Elise came here. She fed the cat. She was abducted from this house.”</p><p>Tinsley stood there, mouth agape, wondering what that meant. Before he had time to recover, Ricky was addressing the parents.</p><p>“Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, may I take a look at your daughter’s bedroom?”</p><p>“We’ve been in and out of it for days. And there were already police in there.” Mr. Nichols said, trying to make excuses for the odd man to leave.</p><p>“I understand that.” said Ricky, nonchalant. Mr. Nichols stammered and finally consented, albeit confused. Tinsley and Goldsworth made their way up the stairs.</p><p>Tinsley was severely confused and slightly perturbed that Ricky was doing this weird, random thing without asking him first. He grabbed the man’s shoulder and whispered in a low voice, “What are you doing, Goldsworth? What do you expect to find in there?”</p><p>“I’m not sure. It’s always better to be thorough than to be lazy though, tin man.” Ricky said and pulled plastic gloves onto his hands before turning the doorknob cautiously.</p><p>There was a form lying in the bed. Tinsley audibly gasped. </p><p>“Elise…?” breathed her father incredulously.</p><p>“Get them out of here,” Ricky whispered. Tinsley and Ricky snuck into the room, closed the door behind them, and the detective started to call for backup and crime scene processors. Ricky, however, seemed pulled, trancelike, to Elise’s side.</p><p>A thin curtain flapped in the breeze through the open window. Strands of Elise’s dark brown hair fluttered lazily around her pale, almost waxy face. She hadn’t been alive for quite a few hours. Her pose was stiff and unnatural, not as it should be in her room and bed. However, she had been placed with care. Soft blankets were pulled to rest under her chin. She wore a nightgown.</p><p>“He tucked her in.” Ricky murmured. Tinsley was exceedingly nervous being in the room, especially due to the fact that there was a dead body, there had just been a murderer in there, and Ricky was acting really bizarre. The sound of sirens swept by the breeze came in through the window. Ricky drew back the covers to see small patches of dried blood in irregular patterns. It had seeped through the thin nightgown. His expression grew puzzled. Then, the police showed up to evaluate and investigate the scene. Ricky and Tinsley were pushed out of the room slowly as the amount of people became too much and they started to hinder foot traffic.</p><p>-</p><p>Two hours later, the investigator and the detective found themselves at a morgue. Two men and a woman were huddled around the body of a young woman, Elise Nichols, taking samples and, basically, doing their jobs. Tinsley and Ricky fidgeted awkwardly to the side.</p><p>“And what is this…?” The woman had plucked something out of the girl’s wounds and quickly got to work examining it.</p><p>A man started to explain the girl’s wounds to Tinsley and Goldsworth. “She has seven puncture wounds in her abdomen and-”</p><p>“Antler velvet.” The woman called from where she sat, hunched over a magnifying glass.</p><p>The man puzzled over this for a second,and was about to continue when Ricky said something.</p><p>“She was hung. Or, more like suspended. On the antlers.”</p><p>“Exactly.” The woman confirmed. “You know, antler velvet actually has healing properties.”</p><p>“He was trying to heal her?” Tinsley queried. Ricky shrugged.</p><p>“She also has an incision… the killer took her liver, but then, for some reason, put it back in. COD is strangulation. The puncture wounds and incision were postmortem.”</p><p>“Beverly, I’ve got something!” Another man called, holding a bloody something over Elise’s body.</p><p>The woman came over and grinned widely upon cleaning and inspecting the thing. “It’s a metal shaving. You find them at industrial construction sites. We’ve got you now, you son of a bitch.”</p><p>-</p><p>The car ride back to Tinsley’s office was silent. Tinsley felt so terribly awkward as he drove, looking in the rearview mirror more times than he probably should have to check on Ricky, who was zoning out in the backseat. The detective couldn’t help but puzzle over Ricky’s odd behavior and conclusions. How had he known things the killer should know? Also, Tinsley couldn’t get over the incredibly odd nature of the case in general. The killer had risked being caught just to put this girl back in her bed. Why?</p><p>“I can feel you staring at me, Tinsley. I don’t really want to die tonight, so keep your eyes on the road.” Ricky said gratingly. Tinsley winced and turned to the road.</p><p>“Goldsworth, I have to ask… why do you think the killer did that?”</p><p>“Why did he return Elise Nichols to her bed? Easy. He felt bad.”</p><p>“Isn’t this guy a psychopath?”</p><p>“I don’t know, honestly. He has to be, and yet, he feels genuine remorse. He… respects the girls. He cares for them. He returned Elise Nichols because he felt bad that, whatever he did with the other girls, he couldn’t do with her. She was sick, maybe. Something. He- he couldn’t honor her. He wants to honor them.”</p><p>“Honor them? What does that m-” Tinsley was interrupted by Ricky’s phone buzzing loudly in his pocket. The other man quickly picked up.</p><p>“Goldsworth.” He paused, and Tinsley saw realization flash in his eyes. “Ah. Thank you. I understand.” He snapped the phone shut. “Elise Nichols had liver cancer. He’s eating them.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry if i don't always respond to comments! I'm kind of awkward and have a hard time figuring out what to say but I do appreciate all the feedback I get and all of your love+comments+kudos! I might have some fanart next time ;)<br/>also! sorry if there are mistakes, i gto tired and didnt read it twice so... sorry!</p>
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